Rain
by animefreak2015
Summary: Under Construction: This time Napoleon is in trouble, Illya has to find him and has an unlikely partner ... Inspired by Toto's Africa.
1. Chapter 1

Rain

"I hear the drums echoing tonight …"

Napoleon Solo, clad in the khaki of the African adventurer, nursed his gin and tonic in a corner of the bar. His quick eyes surveyed the patrons, locals and travelers. Outside the night was quiet, insects and animals not yet ready to take over from the human sounds of music and laughter. In his mind's eye, he could see Kilimanjaro rising in the distance, the three dormant volcanic cones still covered in ancient ice.

He looked at his watch. Midnight. The witching hour. His contact seemed to have chickened out on coming to see him. With only a code name to go by, Solo didn't know if his contact was a man or a woman. Either way, no one had approached him to ask about the feathers in his wide brimmed Great White Hunter hat. The conversations around him were quiet, very few of the clientele getting so drunk they were inclined to be aggressive. Except for the two waitresses, there didn't seem to be a lot of women in the place.

Half an hour after midnight, he decided to pack it in and return to his rooms. Moshi was a quiet provincial town; the only real tourist trade intent on snapping pictures of the mountain and wildlife out on the Serengeti. He paid his tab, sat the hat on his head at a slight angle and strolled into the night attempting to ignore the growing feeling of being watched. A part of him wished his usual partner was around, but the stubborn Russian was back in New York still recuperating from wounds inflicted on their last mission. The THRUSH madman they'd encountered seemed to be a combination of Dr. Dabree and Dr. Egret with a penchant for skinning his enemies. Illya had lost a three inch swathe of skin down his side.

UNCLE medical in New York had successfully used an experimental mesh to encourage new skin growth, but the process was time consuming as well as painful for the Russian, leaving him occupied in R&amp;D instead of out in the field. Napoleon wondered again whether the two of them were too close to being friends to work together. He dismissed the thought as the crawling feeling between his shoulderblades took on life as dark figures emerged from the shadows of the building to surround him.

Training fell into place and he fought his attackers but the number of men surrounding him grew in a most unsettling fashion. Black hands clutched at him, chilling his skin where they touched until they took him under, piling over and under him until he was smothered in the dark.

Half a block away, Miriam Akele hurried toward Solo and his attackers. A small slender woman in her mid twenties, her dark skin hid her from observing eyes as she rushed to find the man she was to give the information she stole from her employers. She had been so fortunate to get a good job as a secretary, a responsible position for a woman of her background. Then she realized that her employers were evil men, not because they were white, although they were, for the most part foreigners; but for what they were doing. Their manufacturing site was a sweatshop full of children and young people being worked to death on some project she could not begin to understand. Her Aunt Bethani put her in touch with the uncles, men who had the good of the world at heart. She made the commitment to meet with a man at the bar another of her actual uncles owned. Now she was late, the foreman kept her finishing up reports he needed for the next day. She did not understand the reports as they were neither in her native tongue nor in the English she worked so hard to learn.

Ahead of her there was something in the street, some sort of action. She stopped and stared. It was as though the shadows had life and were taking a struggling man down. Fear held her in place until a hand grabbed her hair and tugged her head back. Before she could struggle, Miriam felt the sting of a sharp blade across her throat. Then she could not breathe, blood spurted forth and air rattled from the wound in her neck.

Hands like ice held her, tipping her to one side to catch the red fluid, black in the moonlight, in a bowl. Her last thought was of the man she would not meet and of the horrors in store for her people because she died here and foolishly.


	2. Chapter 2

"She's coming in twelve-thirty flight"

Angelique landed at the newly renamed Jomo Kenyatta International airport, not a hair out of place. She was clad in tailored khaki instead of her usual exquisitely haut couture style, sturdy hiking boots displacing her Italian handmade spike heels. Inside the air-conditioned terminal, she breezed through customs with two wheeled bags and out into the heavy night air. A dusty limosine met her, the driver nearly as dark as the night, his ebon face split by a white smile as he nodded to the lady. Archie Ruballa stood six foot four and was built like a pro linebacker in American football. Stowing her bags in the trunk, he handed her into the backseat where Ruben Stacks awaited her.

"What news?"

"He's in Moshi, ostensibly for the view." The little man referred to the distant sight of Mt. Kilimanjaro.

"Nothing more? Nothing on his contact?"

"No. Except that the contact was for tonight and did not show up. Solo's gone for a walk. This late, following him would be difficult even for our man in Moshi."

She nodded her understanding. "Very well. I have a room booked. I'll head to Moshi in the morning …All right, later in the morning. Have a vehicle ready for me by … eleven. I should be ready by then. Anything else?"

He shook his head. He never quite got over watching Angelique when she was around so he was content to just look at her while they delivered her to the hotel.

Behind them, an elderly taxi carried a pale man toward the same destination.

The hotel was a mix of traditional African and modern architecture. A broad verandah surrounded the first floor, channeling whatever breeze there was into the dim interior through the wide doors and windows. The lobby was welcoming, the area dotted with worn leather couches and chairs next to small tables to accommodate visitors who preferred shade to the glare of the sun. During the day, drinks were served here as well as in the bar.

The blond man stepped out of the taxi a few minutes after the limousine deposited Angelique and her luggage. He nodded to the driver as he paid for the ride. As he walked through the doorway, his inside jacket pocket made a muffled warbling sound. A sigh escaped him as he located a secluded area and withdrew what looked like an expensive pen. A twist of the cap revealed that the item was a sophisticated communication device.

"Kuryakin here," he identified himself quietly, praying that he did not sound as tired as he felt after the long flights to get him to Nairobi.

"Mr. Kuryakin," Alexander Waverly, seated in his office surrounded by the tech tools of his trade, addressed his most recalcitrant agent. "I was not aware of assigning you to Mr. Solo's mission."

"I'm still on leave, sir," the Russian responded, his slight accent deepening, knowing that if the old man wanted him back in New York, he would have to go.

"As long as you are there strictly as a tourist, I have no objection. You will check in with UNCLE Nairobi in four days if you are not returning here. Understood?" The older man's voice was as bland as usual, only the hint of steel beneath the words.

"Understood, sir," Illya acknowledged the order. "Kuryakin out." He cut the connection and secured the device in his jacket again before heading to the check in desk.

The young man behind the wide expanse of expensive wood gave him a gleaming smile while not truly paying much attention to the nondescript blond. At this hour, routine kept him running rather than actual interest until he accepted the American Express card to pay for the room.

"Yes, I can accept this. Give me just a moment to make the security deposit, sir."

Illya suppressed a smile at the importance he had gained by having one of the new, internationally accepted credit cards. While he was distrustful of the payment method, UNCLE supported the concept and he would, as always, use the tools at his disposal.

The desk clerk returned with a multi-layered strip of paper for him to sign and returned the card. "Will you be staying long?"

Excellent question. He hired the room for a week, ignoring the curious look at his single suitcase. A bell boy appeared next to him as if magically summoned, offering to take the bag as he showed the Russian to his room.

"Oh, I don't think that will be necessary, do you?" The lush tones of a feminine voice froze Illya in place for a moment as she slipped her arm through his. "Do lead the way."

"Angelique," he muttered as they followed the uniformed man to the elevator, an elegant wrought iron embellished cage from an earlier day.

"How are you, my dear Stone?" she asked, a hint of laughter in her voice.

"Well, and you?"

The chit chat of small talk occupied them until the bellboy ushered them into Illya's room, his hand out for a tip. Angelique obliged, know how thrifty her companion tended to be. Closing the door behind the local, she leaned against it, turning the key in the lock and then holding it out to Illya. He took it much in the manner of a man expecting a scorpion instead of a key.

"Really, Mr. Stone. I have no intention of biting or harming you. I understand you're here in a personal capacity rather than a business one." She met his gaze directly as she moved into the room and then around him to take a seat in yet another wicker chair. "I think they've been watching too many American movies about Africa," she changed direction, running a hand over the time smoothed surface. "What do you think?"

"I think you're up to something."

"Oh, my. Some day you really must learn to deal with banter, Mr. Stone."

She remained silent as he checked the room for electronic surveillance devices. Finding the room clean, he set up a small interference generator before turning back to his unwelcome guest.

"Why are you here?"

"Very possibly for the same reason you are: to check up on Mr. Solo. And to see about retrieving an employee who's gone missing. Not the sort of person you want loose without a keeper, I'm afraid."

Anyone less afraid looking would be difficult to imagine, but if there was a THRUSH lunatic loose in the area, confining him or her would be a good thing. "Who?"

"That would be telling, darling. However, I have it on good authority that Mr. Solo's contact for tonight did not show up. She works for a large landowner about whom even we have had a hard time finding out what he does aside from spend money on a huge complex with far too sophisticated security."

He regarded her suspiciously, but then, that was generally his attitude where the lovely THRUSH agent was concerned. "Why are you telling me this?"

She met his gaze again, her own as serious as his. "I'm not sure you're familiar with local legends," she seemed to change the subject. "Over the last hundred years a dozen men fitting Napoleon's general description have vanished without a trace." She held up a hand to forestall his comments. "I know. People vanish in Africa, or anywhere that is relatively unsettled." She looked out the window to where the mountain loomed, a darker shadow in the night. "I head to Moshi in the morning. If we travel together, you can keep a better eye on me."

With that she stood and gestured to the door.

Later, he might question why she locked it in the first place, but they were both covert agents for international organizations, not the sort of employment that bred trust.


	3. Chapter 3

Morning dawned to gray clouds and drizzle. Angelique regarded the day with a jaundiced eye. The humidity was hard enough on her usually expensively coiffed hair. She settled on a simple French twist as she dressed. The Serengeti was not the place for elegant Western clothing or attitudes.

An errand runner from the local Satrapy brought her news from Moshi. Solo was missing, his bed unslept in; the woman dead, her body left nearly bloodless in the street. The THRUSH agent smoked half a cigarette as she analyzed the information, stubbing out the remainder in a crystal ashtray before heading down the hallway to the Russian's room.

Angelique might have preferred to head out without the man, but she knew his expertise in many things would be useful to her. Her knock elicited a thump and a slight delay before Kuryakin opened the door and scowled at her. Turning away, he headed for the washstand provided, leaving her to enter as she chose.

A quick glance showed her a bed in turmoil. The Russian had not slept well. His usual catlike movements were slowed. She shelved her worry. It would not do to let him know his condition troubled her. Weakness was a liability in her organization and Angelique was not weak.

"Join me for breakfast?" she offered.

A nod was the response. "Fifteen minutes."

She left, pulling the door closed after her.

Downstairs, the lobby was in disarray, tables and chairs overturned and broken. Behind the bar, most of the expensive bottles decorating the shelves were shattered. She stopped by the desk. "What in the world?"

The woman shrugged her colorfully clad shoulders. "I do not know. It was like this when I got here this morning. We are righting it quickly." Even as she spoke, there were men cleaning up debris and setting chairs on their feet. "The dining room is fine and the kitchen was left untouched. Breakfast is being served now."

Illya joined her a few minutes later, still pale, but clad in his usual black slacks, shirt and jacket. In deference to the weather, the shirt was a button down instead of a turtleneck. They ordered and ate in silence until he asked what had happened to the lobby.

She echoed the shrug of the woman on the desk. "It was like this when the morning clerk arrived. Come to think of it, she did not mention the night clerk."

Silence reigned between them until the car arrived, packed with the survival gear Angelique had ordered. "I have food, water and tents. I did not request a change of clothes … for you."

That actually garnered a small smile from the blond man. He vanished upstairs and returned with his overnight bag. "Everything I need," he noted as he found a place to tuck the suitcase. She noted with approval that he'd changed his somber outfit for the more traditional khaki.

She climbed into the Landrover and started the engine as Illya joined her. Given what she knew of his recent injuries, she was not surprised when he did not offer to drive. Instead, he dozed in the passenger seat as she maneuvered them through the crowded streets of Nairobi and out onto the narrow two lane road that would take them to Moshi and then to the slopes of Kilimanjaro. Her own objective, to locate a missing THRUSH scientist, pointed her at the mountain rising serenely in the distance.

As she drove, she could not shake the idea that Solo would be found there as well, or the feeling of being watched.

Mfumfumfu

Gerendy Coda observed the two agents leaving Nairobi. His mole in THRUSH warned him that a top field operative was coming, just as he had been alerted to the agent in Moshi and the traitor in his own ranks. While his foreman had delayed the girl, he denied having anything to do with the woman's death.

"She gave us the slip, boss. We lost her. Not that we would have let her live …" he'd said with a leer Coda understood. His men were a crude and loutish lot, but good enough for the work at hand.

He dismissed the man with a wave of his hand and drove to Nairobi to investigate the new agent. He was surprised to see a woman, a very young and beautiful woman. What was THRUSH thinking? How could she be the agent? He thought he understood when she joined a medium sized, lightly built man in his early thirties. Of course, she was for show, a cover, while the man was the true agent.

He would chastise his mole for believing in foolishness.

Alfred Guest stared at his employer in disbelief. "You said a blond man? Russian?" Coda nodded. "Oh Hell! Oh bloody hell. I'm out of here."

He rose to leave, the sound of a bullet being racked into position stopping his movement. "You just described the number two agent out of New York," he attempted to enlighten the other man. "That's not THRUSH, that's one of the UNCLE bad asses. Solo's the attention getter, the suave and debonair type. That little blond sod is twice the danger Solo is. Name's Kuryakin. Rumor has it he's a KGB plant in the ranks. Likes to blow things up. Enjoys killing. Heartless, he is. The two of them … y'know how they say the female is the deadlier of the sexes, together I wouldn't give you a snowball's chance in hell if they get on to you. Kill the two of them. Before they get any further. Now, I'm going. If I hear anything more, I'll be in touch."

He left Coda considering what he'd just learned. If Guest was right, the only thing to do was kill the man and the woman. If he moved now, he knew an assassin who could get the job done before they reached Moshi.


	4. Chapter 4

Rain 4

Coda considered what his man inside had told him. If Guest was right, the only thing to do was kill the man and the woman. If he moved now, he knew an assassin who could get the job done before they reached Moshi. Unlike the agents, Coda was supremely confident in his abilities and his money. He was thus unaware of the eyes that followed him, noted his actions and withdrew to consider the next action.

Mfumfumfumfu

The sound of torrential rainfall awakened the sleeping man. Water splashed in the gutters over the deep set windows, splashing onto the mosaic surface of the balcony outside to sluice dust and the dirt of many passing feet away until the rain hit the plaza below. He stretched, the play of muscles under his lightly tanned skin revealing scars of long healed injuries. Tossing aside the light covering he lay under, he moved to the window and stared out at the rain, his gaze finally falling to the plaza where the huge block of basalt in the center was now decorated with a woman's nude body.

Shock ran through his system as he stared, eyes widening. What was her name? Tha'kala, that was it. Last night she shared his bed, welcoming his embrace, sporting with him in joy. Now her body, throat slashed open, lay chilling in the rain that washed away whatever blood there had been. Why? The question beat at him. Why kill her? Why not just keep her away from him if he had transgressed by knowing her? Or her by … His head pounded as the headache returned, blurring his vision.

He blinked and shook his head, like an angry lion. When his vision cleared he knew why she died, because knowing him, she could be used by no other. Stupid custom. Especially when he had not indicated he did not desire her for more than one night of coupling. What if he had decided upon her? Was a descended god not allowed to sample before he made his choice?

Anger rose up, this time directed at the priest. How dare he slaughter one the great Gilasham chose without consulting him first? He strode across the room, catching a glimpse of himself as he passed a bronze mirror polished until it provided a good reflection. Gilasham froze in mid movement. Who was this pale stranger? Tall, well formed, scarred; but he did not know those scars on the faintly gilded frame. Dark eyes under straight brows, a finely chiseled face stared back at him, framed by dark hair only just becoming shaggy from a short period of growth. Who the hell was this? What had that never sufficiently damned priest done to him?

Agony slashed through his brain, driving him to his knees, hands pressed to his temples as though to suppress the pain. Was this death come for him? He dove into the welcoming blackness.

Napoleon Solo knelt panting on the cold stone of the floor, the beauty of the inlaid mosaic lost on him as he came to himself. Time had passed. He was in the stone city, his third awakening here. His gaze traveled to the mirror, his image reflected in wavy confusion. Slowly he regained his feet. Naked, he was lightly tanned everywhere, from toes to face the golden sheen was his skin, not the tint of the mirror.

Quickly he examined himself for damage. Aside from his knuckles, skinned from some conflict, he was whole. In an uncharacteristic gesture, he ran his hands through his hair, noting the length. Some time had passed. His usual cut was shaggy although clean. A faint smile curved his mouth. Illya would have something to say when he saw him.

Illya. Quick images of the slightly built Russian slammed through his mind. Where was Illya? Where was he? A short kilt and wide leather belt lay across a wooden bench next to a low table. He pulled them on with sure fingers, ignoring the alien quality of the movements before returning to the windows. Shadows of his activity the night before danced through his muddy thoughts. The body below brought clarity. He was in a city, a huge, monolithic city near a massive single mountain. Snow topped the heights. The name of the place sheltered in the shadows of his mind, just out of reach.

Ki'imajalla, the forever shaking mountain.

There was another name, but he could not find it. The city was Osh'ki'milatta where dwelt the rulers of the mountain and surrounding land. The Shadow Warriors of the great … the great … another name tantalizingly out of reach. When Illya arrived, he would have the information.

Which left him with the question again of where his partner was and why he wasn't here … yet?

A whisper of sound alerted Napoleon to the arrival of his jailer. Paga'lat was not a large man; time had taken the straightness of his youth and bent the frame only slightly. He dressed simply, a woven kilt held in place by a woven belt decorated with golden images stitched in place. A sash divided his chest from right shoulder to left hip, also decorated with struck golden icons. In his long fingered right hand the priest gripped a staff of dark wood, faintly phallic in design, inlaid with stones and silver. His feet were bare, thickly calloused with much walking. Medium brown hair streaked with gray framed his face, tapering into a long braid down his back. Most speaking were his eyes, not the dark chocolate of most of the people, but a deep gray, sunken and brooding. He smiled, his mouth turning up but leaving his eyes unchanged.

"What do you want?" Napoleon snapped. For a moment he wondered where his usual calm and cool demeanor had gone. The memory of the body told him as anger churned forward again. He struggled to regain control of the emotions churning through him. "I haven't had breakfast yet," he continued.

The priest gestured. Two women, no, two slaves, naked save for broad bands hung low on their hips with draped fabric falling between their legs, entered with trays bearing food and drink. They set the items on the table and then knelt beside it, waiting. He could feel the fear rolling off them.

"Get out," he ordered, his voice harsh. Slaves. Fear. He hated both of them while knowing that this was the reality here. They ran past him and the priest leaving the two men to stare into each other's eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Five

"How far is it to Moshi?" Illya asked as the sun sank into the west behind them.

"One hundred and forty six miles. Three hours at worst in the US. Forever here. You want to drive?"

If he was surprised she offered he did not show it, but shook his head. "Maybe tomorrow. He settled into his seat. "You handle the vehicle well," he added, not that he was ever derogatory about women drivers, he knew better.

"I'm surprised, Mr. Kuryakin. I thought you didn't like me," she purred over the sound of the engine. "I don't. You are intelligent, avaricious and deadly. Also beautiful. You are a weapon for your employers, just as I am for mine," he added gruffly.

"But I am not content to remain only a weapon, Mr. Kuryakin." She held up a hand to stop his reply, if any. "I am quite aware than on your side, that is an option, to be very good at what you do and remain that way. Unfortunately, I want more than that and I do not want to rely on someone else to carry me forward. That said, I believe we have a mutual enemy here that jeopardizes bothy our world views."

"We work together until you betray me," Illya agreed with a wolfish smile.

"Or you betray me," she agreed. Interesting, a truce with one of UNCLE's deadliest agents. Would they both survive? To rescue Napoleon, they would have to.

Thjey crept past another set of goats and their shepherds, the THRUSH agent nodding to the men as she passed. There was a possibility that each group held a spy for the real opposition. At least two of the men she'd seen were too clean for their positions. She smiled to herself at that. Had the man next to her been concealing his identity and i9nterest, she'd never have noticed him at all.

They drove on as clouds gathered on the horizon, a promise of the rains to come. Both travelers were lost in their own thoughts as the sun crept toward the western horizon.

"You'd think we could travel faster," Angelique broke the almost companionable silence that had grown between them as she pulled off the road into a travelers rest area, not so designated by signs, but by the fires being built to heat or cook meals.

"At least we are not on foot or horseback," Illya countered.

"There is that." She pulled an ice chest out of the vehicle, concealing her surprise when he took the item from her.

"So, I get to scrounge wood," she said with a laugh. There was a small cord of wood in the landrover which she pulled out and brought over to where the Russian was inspecting the rations she packed.

"Don't worry, the outfitters chose the food. I haven't touched it," she purred.

"You expect me to trust your word?"

"No, just the seals on the packages," she shot back.

He scowled as she set to work making a small fire for them. "


	6. Chapter 6

The wild dogs cry out in the night

Six

The incredible colors of the African sunset swiftly diminished into a velvet dark sky littered with glittering diamonds and the pale path of the Milky Way above them as they settled in to rest. Illya considered offering to drive through the night while the road was not as crowded, but the aches of his body silenced him. Whatever Napoleon had fallen into, the Russian would be no help if he was debilitated by the travel to get there. A part of him chafed at the delay, yet he already knew that either the American was already dead or he would be alive and working for his own freedom and survival. Either way, resting now was necessary.

He watched his companion as she prepared the meal, sharing it with little comment. He understood why his partner flirted with the potentially deadly agent. She was beautiful, as he had commented. Her intelligence and skills kept her moving through the deadly world they inhabited and allowed her to progress up the ladder in the opposition's organization. Yet here and now, she worked with him while their goals did not conflict. It was a side of THRUSH he was not used to seeing. Most of their agents could not put aside the barriers between their ideology long enough to work out survival in the face of a mutual enemy.

He pulled his thoughts away from his analysis as he settled down into the sleeping bag she'd handed him. Time enough to worry at her objectives when there was daylight.

Out in the darkness a wild dog lifted its voice in salute to the rising moon, or possibly just in pack conversation. The single sound gave an eerie feel to the evening, the gentle sound of voices around them at other campfires ceasing and leaving only silence and the wild cries. Other dogs joined in until the sound filled the emptiness only to die away. Primal. No wonder man adopted fire as soon as the means could be figured out. He looked over to his companion, her profile a dark silhouette against the firelight as she lay in her own sleeping bag, her head supported by her hands clasped behind it.

"A penny for your thoughts, Russian," she broke the silence as other voices began to murmur at the camps around them.

He snorted. "Too little payment."

She chuckled at that. "Oh, come on. Your thoughts can't be that expensive, Kuryakin." She shifted to turn on her side, one hand propping her head up so she could look at him. "Let's see. Topmost: Why is she doing this? Answer: Because it makes more sense to work with you for the time being than to keep looking over my shoulder. I think we went over this once before."

"Still difficult to believe," he told her with another light snort. "I understand the theory of keep your friends close and your enemies closer, but it seldom seems to work in reality."

"Well, we'll just have to make sure it does." The flames lit up her face for a moment letting him see the concern.

He was reluctant to ask why she was concerned about his partner. He knew the two of them flirted, dined together and had possibly done more than that.

"I like your partner. Were we in a different world, I think I could get close to him. Do you know what a sharecropper is?"

She seemed to be changing the subject on him, yet possibly not. "I have heard the term."

She lay down again, staring up at the stars overhead. "The term refers to tenant farmers in the southern united states. People too poor to buy their own land so they worked out a deal with a big land owner to farm a part of the larger parcel and in exchange for a portion of the crops they can build a house, keep some livestock and live on the land. The problem with the agreement is that the landowner gets most of what you grow leaving only enough to survive on until the next season. Whatever crop you grow, it's never enough to make a little money to set aside and if the season is bad, you still owe the man the agreed on amount. People starve just trying to get by."

That he could understand. A bad year at home could make survival difficult even for those who worked the land. "Your background?"

A nod answered the question. "We had four bad years in a row. My parents died of influenza. No money for a doctor, no food for nourishment. I was thirteen and the oldest. They came and took us to the city, to the orphanage. The baby died just after Momma. My brothers were young enough to find families to foster or adopt them. I turned fourteen and there were problems. I wasn't willing to pay their price for staying and ran away. I swore I would never have my life in someone else's hands and have to pay a price that was forced on me."

"THRUSH?" He sounded amazed and knew it. The opposition was everything that was wrong with the world and then some. Even his homeland, the USSR objected to THRUSH.

"Sounds wrong, doesn't it. But that's the one thing I was never told I had to do. I'm not just beautiful in the organization, I am an asset. I am valued for my intelligence and skills as much as for my ability to distract people." She was looking toward him again, gauging his reaction in the dim light of the fire.

"We are not so bourgeois in my organization as to expect a woman to be judged only on her looks," he responded to her challenge.

She laughed. "No, I suppose not. But you don't have many women in the field. Most of them are support. Still, UNCLE does have it's moments, I suppose."

Silence fell between them. The sounds from the other camps dying away as the hour advanced. He lay gazing up, wondering where his partner was and why Angelique chose to tell him what she did. Perhaps she thought that if he could understand the forces that shaped her he would trust her more. Trust was simply not in his nature. Except for his partner.


	7. Chapter 7

Elias M'butu watched the night, the travelers and most certainly the Europeans settling in for the night. His employer wanted the man and the woman dead. Just at the moment, he was having a difficult time discerning just which man and woman was the correct couple. Elias prided himself on turning in perfect work with the least amount of fuss and bother.

On the road today three vehicles with three white couples had passed him as he pedaled along on his bicycle. The first were very fair skinned with dark hair, the woman's nearly black and the man's a deep brown. He dismissed them as both were older, the man over six feet in height. His quarry was a smaller man, whether he was still blond or had changed his hair color.

Potential couple number two had passed him in late afternoon. The coloring was correct, the woman driving the vehicle while the man seemed to sleep in the passenger seat. Dependent on whether they stopped or not, he would catch up to them on the road or in Moshi.

Couple number three concerned him. The woman, her hair an innocuous sunny blonde, stared at him as they inched past him. Something in her bright blue gaze troubled him. She could not have recognized him as he labored along on his ancient and serviceable vehicle. His usually gray streaked hair was purest black, his skin darkened to sun-blackened ebony with skillful makeup. Even his eyes, normally the most distinctive part of him in their pale gray color, were dark to blend in with his general look of a traveling native of the area.

He might have to deal with that couple as well, although he was certain they were not his quarry. No, the Land Rover was his quarry. Either on the road or in Moshi, he would find them and eliminate them.

Mfumfumfumfu

"Carleton."

The sleek looking man driving their venerable WWII vintage Willys jeep raised an eyebrow in answer.

"We just passed Elias."

"Did we?" He sounded thoughtful, as he negotiated about a small herd of goats blocking the road. "The assassin?"

"Yes. I'd hardly recognize someone who wasn't spectacularly well known in our circles, darling." She patted his right thigh, noting again the steely musculature under her fingers.

The elegant face hardened. "I don't think I care for his presence on this road."

"It might make it easier for us. After all, if he pinpoints the two agents for us, it will be a simple matter to keep an eye on them."

Carleton chanced a look at his companion. "We are only to keep an eye on the two of them until they solve the puzzle."

Her wide eyed gaze met his. "And to intervene if they become too mired in the issue," she answered him softly. "This is a dangerous place we are headed. We cannot allow ourselves to become involved unless absolutely necessary."

He reached down and patted her hand where it rested on his leg. "I am completely aware, dearest. This time, we shall not fail." Something steely in his look was echoed in her own. "Not this time," he repeated.


	8. Chapter 8

Rain 8

Carleton and his companion pulled off the road on the far side of the camping area, settling into a pair of sleeping bags as Angelique and Illya talked. They kept an eye out for the assassin, neither dropping off to sleep as they waited out the evening. Campfires dwindled and everyone settled in to rest for the night, a few of the people setting up guards for their flocks. Most believed in the safety in numbers on this road and fell asleep in the warm night air.

The moon was high overhead lending a silvery touch to the ground below when three shadows worked their way toward where the UNCLE agent and his

THRUSH companion lay in the darkness. The black man reached the small camp first and was disappointed to find that neither the woman nor the man were where he expected them to be. Their bags were empty.

He cussed silently and turned to slip back into the surrounding darkness when the cold muzzle of a pistol made itself felt against his back. "Hello, Elias."

The assassin went as motionless as he could. "Good evening, Miss Petrie. That was you in the Jeep," he said softly.

"Yes. Yes it was. We have a problem here," she murmured against the skin of his neck, just below his left ear.

"Perhaps we could discuss it … elsewhere, before our quarry returns," he offered, quelling the shudder that wanted to run through his body.

"Mmmm. That is a thought. Shall we?"

The pressure eased slightly, but she was entirely too close to shake now. He let her guide him away from the dying fire and toward where he suspected she and her ever present companion Jason Carleton were encamped.

"I wouldn't," she countered his evaluation of escape. "This is a taser, an electrical device designed to short circuit the nervous system. On over load, it will kill and look like a shock induced heart attack. Not what the inventor was looking for, but very, very useful," she told him. A chance look around and down into her eyes told him all he needed to know. A misstep now and he would not live to see the completion of his mission.

"Why are you here?" Elias finally asked when they were far enough away that disturbing the missing duo was not an issue.

Carleton melted out of the darkness, impeccably dressed as though he was not on a dusty road in Africa in the middle of the night. "You're in the way."

There was no animosity in the man's voice, but it wasn't friendly either. "Of what? They are enemies of my employer. He desires them to be set aside."

"Perhaps you didn't understand," the woman chimed in. "You are in the way."

Elias could sense her tightening her grip on the weapon she carried. "I would prefer not to die here," he added. "But my employer is a hard man."

Carleton caught the woman's wrist with his hand. "Perhaps we should provide Elias with an out."

She sighed, a trifle theatrically to Elias' ears. "All right. A week in Paris, all expenses paid, under an assumed name. Our problem will be solved or not by then." She turned her attention to her companion. "Killing him makes more sense."

The white man's eyes met the assassin's. "She has a point," he agreed. "But I think you'd rather survive and earn another commission rather than disappear here."

Elias looked from one to the other and nodded. "Paris is lovely this time of year," he agreed. "Two weeks, I believe you said?"

She rolled her eyes. "I said ..." 

"Two weeks is correct. I would be on the road back to Nairobi before the sun comes up." Carleton handed over a prepaid ticket to Paris from Nairobi, a passport under an unassuming name and a wad of cash a crocodile might have found difficult to swallow whole.

The assassin pocketed all of the items, tipped his head in a brief nod and faded into the African night. Once he had taken a contract on Carleton. That he had lived to regret that fact had to do with the other man's employment, his avocation than it did with any skill Elias had acquired over time. He almost felt sorry for his erstwhile employer. Almost.

Mfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfu

Illya returned from stepping into the night for a call of nature to find Angelique returning from another direction. They regarded each other with suspicion for a moment before relaxing. Angelique dropped to her sleeping bag and slipped between the layers quickly, pulling the netting around the opening closed to prevent getting any more bugs during the few hours of darkness left.

"Making contact?" Illya stretched out on top of his bag.

"Making certain that the two men I suspected of being on watch for us would not make trouble."

"Excellent." The Russian did not ask how she prevented their making trouble. It was none of his business.


	9. Chapter 9

Rain 9

"We're being followed."

"I know. Which of the followers concern you?" Angelique asked as she negotiated her way around a herd of goats and back onto the road with a bump that jounced both of them in their seats.

"Blonde, medium height, Jeep."

"Ah, yes. That pair has been with us since last night. Unobtrusive but definitely worrisome. They're entirely too … European," she agreed.

"How much farther?"

"At least ten hours before we reach the outskirts. We'll break in four hours and then drive in tonight."

"I thought you were against driving at night."

"I'm cautious, not stupid," she shot back. "The two of them do not concern me unduly, but the two trucks do. I don't recognize any of their members and there are about a dozen men all together. At least two in each truck are well armed, but not with THRUSH weapons." She frowned as she skirted another herd of goats. "There seem to be more goats on the road than usual," she muttered.

"Not yours. Not UNCLE," Illya followed her train of thought. "Then who?"

"Possibly a man named Coda. He's involved in something out on his estate. We've tried to get someone in to check on it, but so far nothing. I suspect there's someone connecting the other direction, a mole in our office in Nairobi." She smiled at that. The look was not reassuring for her companion. She shot a look at him. "Really Mr. Kuryakin, I have no desire to turn you over to either the office or Mr. Coda's people. We will be ready for them. Shit!"

Illya braced himself as she jerked the wheel left and then right and back again to the left as the road exploded in front of them. He kept his hand on his gun while Angelique concentrated on keeping them upright and moving. A final explosion took out a rear tire, nearly catapulting the Russian into the windscreen. By the time he got his bearings and opened the door, they were surrounded by heavily muscled men, white teeth bared in almost feral smiles.

"Your weapons," one of them snapped in a disconcertingly British accent.

He could hear another voice addressing Angelique as he considered his options. A puff of lavender smoke in his face relieved him of the need to make that decision as he passed out.

"Is she secured?"

"Done, sir."

"Excellent. A pity we had to harm the vehicle. Strip it."

mfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfu

"Carleton."

"I see, m'dear. Not entirely unexpected."

His companion sighed. "No, but not auspicious. We don't have time for this delay. If they're late ..."

"They won't be."

She turned her frowning gaze upon him. "You cannot guarantee that? We cannot ..."

"Faith. I have faith in the young Russian and in the woman's ability. Wait and see."

She snorted lightly. "Faith. Not one of my strong points, Carleton," she observed dryly twirling an escaped curl around one finger. We couldn't take them back?"

"Too many of them, too many observers, too public."

She scowled now. "They didn't seem to think so." She turned her gaze back to the bare bones of the Land Rover.

"They're bandits," he countered.

"And I'm just psychotic. I know. Follow them?"

"I think we'll wait in Moshi. That's where they're headed." He put the Jeep in gear and set off across country toward the town. There was no longer any reason to follow the road.


	10. Chapter 10

Angelique surrendered without a fight. She recognized the types around her. She'd put up with the pawing that came with capture in this circumstance, stoic to the end, as her companion seemed to be thinking something the same. She was a little concerned when they dragged him unconscious to the truck she wasn't being escorted to. The game was definitely getting more dangerous.

"I get to ride shotgun?" she asked as the two men stopped, one opening the door for her. "How delightful." She climbed in, not entirely surprised when one of them climbed in behind her. The truck cab was roomy so she wasn't pressed tightly in between the dr\iver and the guard. The vehicles started up and followed the road for a couple of miles before turning off on a dirt track. So, Moshi was not the destination now. She hadn't planned on dealing with Coda yet, but timetables could always change.

After a couple of hours while Angelique took advantage of the time to get some rest, her eyes closed and carefully ignoring the hand resting on her right thigh, the trucks pulled up to an impressive dwelling. She could hardly call it a house with the tall Greek columns supporting the sun porch roof. The place seemed a strange combination of stately English home and South African utility with windows open all around to allow for what little breeze there was.

She was escorted inside, taking note of the dusty hardwood floors and other embellishments. No female hand here to keep the place gleaming, and apparently no well-trained staff to do so either. She conceded mentally that her own thoughts were just a little backward, yet she also knew that there were women who would welcome an alliance with someone who could provide this style of life to them. She became curious as to exactly what this Coda fellow was like, presuming that she was correct in her analysis of where she was and who had sent for her.

They paused before a plain door and knocked courteously before opening it and ushering her through. The room was very empty save for a couple of moth-eaten trophy heads, a metal desk, a couple of chairs and Roderick Coda. She looked him over curiously. The photos in his file did not reflect the predatory alive quality of the man. He was big, more heavily muscled than her favorite man from UNCLE, although a shade shorter. He sat at ease on one corner of his desk as he greeted her.

"Welcome to Moshi."

Angelique raised an eyebrow as one of her escorts shoved her into a steel chair opposite the man who spoke. It was the first truly uncourteous action since her capture. Odd that they chose now to treat her that way instead of when they had her to themselves. This did not bode well for Kuryakin or herself. Still, where there was life, there was hope.

"Thank you." She casually crossed her legs at the knee, leaned against the back of her seat and let her eyes move up and down her host. "Although I do believe being kidnapped for this visit was … overkill? Wouldn't you say so, Mr. Coda. It is, Coda, isn't it?"

Was that a touch of concern in his eyes? Excellent.

"Miss Le Chien, I believe," he addressed her, still lounging at his ease on the corner of the desk.

"That's good. I'm glad you've heard about me. I have a couple of questions and then I will be on my way." Her mentor had told her to always take the upper hand whenever possible.

"Do you? Would one of them be why you are with a known enemy agent?" He stood then and took a seat behind the desk, keeping it between them, almost like a shield."Something I suspect your people would not condone."

She smiled at him. "Hardly. I already know why I'm keeping him close. He's ill and he will eventually lead me to his partner, unless you have already dealt with Mr. Solo. My office in Nairobi assured me that you had no hand in the latter's disappearance, but they have been wrong before." She paused to evaluate her answer on him. "If Solo's dead, Mr. Kuryakin becomes useless," she conceded, continuing to watch him closely, reading every little twitch he allowed himself. There seemed to be more of those than she could find good reasons for, except, of course, for the appearance of Mr. Solo in his sphere of influence. She wondered what exactly he was doing out here, but that was not her current mission.

"I have not seen Mr. Solo since he disappeared. It was not my doing, although I was planning on dealing with him. Ask your questions." He had long ago schooled his face to keep his thoughts hidden. He might not have been so secure had he realized how well the woman before him could read his body language.

Good. He was off balance now. "Dr. Helwit D'Hanson. He slipped his chain in Johannesburg and headed north. I have information indicating that he might have come to Moshi or Nairobi in seeking to flee the continent, or that he may have contacts in the area. Would you have been one of those contacts?" Her tone was light. Her gaze never wavering from his face.

"Don't know the name. Is there a photo? I will set my people to keep an eye out for him. Is there anything else?" he wound up the interview, not entirely certain that he was still in charge of it.

"Of course. My vehicle, my stores and Mr. Kuryakin." Angelique stood. "Oh, perhaps more of a replacement for my vehicle as your people damaged it, took all my supplies and left it sitting by the side of the road."

"I believe we can accommodate a replacement, however, Mr. Kuryakin will remain here. We will hold him for you until you return," he countered.

Her eyebrows rose slightly. "You know how to reach me, Mr. Coda. Why would I return if you have neither Dr. D'Hanson nor Mr. Solo? My mission takes priority over whatever your worries about his organization may be. Kuryakin goes with me." Her tone brooked no argument. "Now, is there somewhere I can freshen up before I leave? I hate this heat, it makes one feel so ... dirty." She let her eyes linger on him just long enough to get the usual vain reaction.

Men like Coda were so simple to manipulate. Especially when you expected betrayal at every turn.


	11. Chapter 11

Angelique looked up to note the darkening sky overhead as she oversaw the restocking of the truck she was about to remove from Mr. Coda's fleet. The Russian UNCLE agent had yet to make an appearance. It would not do for her to make yet another inquiry, but if the agent wasn't at the truck by the time she was ready to leave, she would make her desire for his presence known.

As the last of the supplies were packed in, two of Coda's thugs dragged the Russian out to the truck and tossed his limp body into the back with a laugh. "Not so tough, these Americans," one of them told her derisively, looking her over as though she were a side of beef instead of a competent field agent.

"Perhaps if he weren't already unconscious, you'd have more reason to respect his abilities," she answered him quietly. "I would prefer not to return here. Please advise Mr. Coda, that should I find Mr. Kuryakin too damaged to assist me, I will be most displeased. As will my employer. While he may not find my displeasure worth worrying about, THRUSH is disinclined to take his disrespect lightly."

She turned her back on the lot of them and climbed into the driver's seat, turning the key in the ignition and putting the vehicle into gear. The men scattered as she backed up, put the truck into first and accelerated out of the compound. Half an hour later she located a clump of trees and pulled into the shade. It did not look like Coda had anyone following her. She pulled the canvas closure between the cab and the back open far enough to wiggle through, worked her way over the supply boxes and knelt nest to Illya's still unconscious body. His face was covered in sweat, but he was otherwise relaxed.

Angelique sat, her legs folded neatly beneath her. "I suppose I could use the amyl nitrate to wake you up, but I'd hate to waste it if you're already conscious."

The Russian glared at her with one eye barely slitted open. "Where are we?"

"About half an hour out from Coda's place. I find myself hoping that he's involved in this somehow."

"Oh, he is, he is," a third voice chimed in from the back of the truck. A very dusty face peered into the dark interior. The man's eyes widened as he saw both of the guns. His hands shot up in surrender. "I am not dangerous! Truly, I am not!" he told them before his knees apparently gave out and the face vanished.

"D'Hanson," Angelique surmised as she moved to the back and pulled the heavy canvas aside to look down. The very dusty scientist lay there unconscious. "Mr. Kuryakin, are you well enough to help me load my scientist into the truck?"

Illya joined her and looked down at the mousy looking man. "Your scientist?" He looked for the latch to allow them to lower the tailgate of the truck. It made a medium loud boom as it fell into place. D'Hanson twitched slightly and cracked an eye open.

"My missing scientist," she agreed as she dropped to the ground. "Dr. D'Hanson, I'm Angelique," she introduced herself as she offered the prone scientist a hand.

He nodded, gratefully accepted the hand up and groaned as his muscles seemed to protest. "I'm sorry, but hanging on to the undercarriage of a truck is not really something I'm used to doing. I never thought it would take so much … erm … strength." He stared at his arms, which were shaking from the unusual task to which they'd been subjected. "Could I … sit?" he asked, gesturing to the tailgate where Illya still crouched.

"Certainly." Angelique looked to Illya as she spoke.

The Russian offered the scientist a hand, pulling him onto the deck and letting him sit, legs stretched out in front of him. "Muscle relaxers," he suggested.

"Hmm. First aid kit," she agreed as she reentered and worked her way through the boxes. "They buried it," she growled. "Ah. Here we are. Illya, would you open the back of the truck so I can see the labels, please?" She ignored that this was the first time during this entire ordeal she had addressed the Russian by his given name.

He obliged, although he did give her a speculative look as he did so.

"Ah. Yes. Here." She handed the slender scientist a couple of pills and a canteen. "Take these. It will help ease the reaction." It would also knock the man out for twenty-four hours, but she didn't need to tell either of the men that, yet.

She also handed the scientist a juice pack to give him something to concentrate on while the sedative took effect and ignored the look Illya gave her as she lowered the unconscious man to the wooden floor of the truck, removing the empty pack from his loosened grip. She raised an eyebrow. "Do you really want to nursemaid the man while we look for your partner?" she asked.

"No," he agreed. "Still, where do we stow him while we look?"

"At the hotel. I'll have a doctor there to keep an eye on him within a couple of hours." She pulled out the THRUSH version of the communicator and established contact with the office in Nairobi. "They get to use the helicopter," she added as she put the device away. "I know, it would have saved a lot of time, but we are keeping a low profile. On the other hand, an ill visitor gets attention and we can use the local interest in what's going on to direct attention away from our inquiries."


	12. Chapter 12

Twelve

Paga'lat frowned as he watched his king lounge at ease in his chair at the table with his nobles. Although the man ate with relish, his drinking was subdued, preferring water to the fermented beverages available. And no woman graced his bed at all. This was a first, for Gilasham was known for his appetites. Had he chosen a woman but had yet to declare himself? That would, of course, make his, Paga'lat's role more difficult. It had been long since he officiated at a life binding.

For a moment, the world distorted before his eyes. Ruins stretched before him and sightless skulls littered the plain. Closing his eyes, he shook his head to dispel the visions. No. The city would stand. He would rule for a thousand years once Heng Tai and his horde threw down the fool who now ruled and his so easily manipulated friend.

Even now, Heng and his people moved against the city, although Gilasham did not yet know. The high priest had seen to it that none of the young men sent to the East and North had survived to bring word back from their borders. Enram, Gilasham's friend from his days as a roving warrior, was due to visit. Paga'lat had intercepted the message, but allowed it through. All he had to do was set the two of them at each other's throats and all would be well.

The priest did not know exactly how he would do this, yet. But the golden diadem that circled Gilasham's brow was nearly within his grasp. A shudder ran through the ancient as a future he did not see slammed through his brain. The city standing tall through thousands of years and himself tied to the place as though to a ships anchor stone. He felt frayed, worn to the bone and past. A snarl of hatred tried to get though his lips, but he quelled the reaction.

Again he turned his attention to the handsome man seated at the table. This time, the betrayal would work. His gods had promised him dominion over the city until he joined them as a lesser god. Another thought wiggled its way into his rotting brain. Why a lesser god? Why not as an equal? Which of them had thrown down a king? Which of them had ruled on earth as a mortal before ascending?

Before the insane laughter could escape his lips, the priest stole away from the room, unaware that dark eyes followed him as he disappeared into the shadows.

Napoleon, lurking somewhere between spectator and in charge of his own body, watched the bloody handed high priest of the city leave the dinner. He was aware that something was wrong, that he was not where he should be and that, somehow, he was no longer just himself. He searched for the name again, the name of the man who had control of his body.

Gil-something. The other was not aware of the danger here, although he seemed to have altered some of his behavior since the girl was murdered. Napoleon tried to fight his way through the cobwebs and viscous material that held him trapped inside his own head. For a fleeting moment, a memory of a shaggy haired blonde man gave him comfort.

Illya. Enram. The two names intertwined and became confused. Where was his friend? Two answers came to him. Illya swathed in bandages from armpit to waist, still in medical and fuming about it. Enram, war brother, standing on a rock outcrop, bloody sword in hand, proclaiming his ascension to the throne of … of … The name of the place escaped him, but the vision of the woman who came to stand at Enram's side did not. Again he knew two names: Angelique and Agieala the Golden.

Agieala, Enram's promised wife, stolen by Checador of Eshad and ravished on the altar of his tentacle god. Checador proclaiming her his highest wife before the crowd of his supporters. Agieala spitting on the fool and striking at him with a dagger she'd grabbed from another fool. She did not kill him. He struck the dagger from her hand and then struck her, knocking her senseless.

Gilasham knew a touch of jealousy that the woman preferred her promised man to him, after all, was he not Gilasham, already a king and greatest warrior of his time? He took another drink of water. Oh, how he wished he could get drunk, but that way lay dangers of another kind. His eyes wandered over the lovely women serving his men and knew that in his touch lay only death unless he proclaimed the woman his chosen.

He had no desire to keep himself only to one of them. Dark skinned, pale skinned, dusky … no one called to him as Agieala called to Enram. Gilasham smiled at that thought. Enram had told him he would know when the one called to him, that he would warm from the heart out and that he would know instantly she was the only one he would desire from then on, regardless of what his place allowed him. Enram was such a fool.

Enram was also his best friend. As he gazed around the table he had a second thought on that. Perhaps the blond was his only friend. He tossed off the water and held his cup for a refill. Thunder rumbled in the distance. What was the line? Napoleon wondered. Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown?


	13. Chapter 13

"I know that I must do what's right  
Sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti"

Thirteen

Moshi viewed the truck with interest as Angelique drove into the town and to the hotel where Napoleon had been registered. They viewed the helicopter with even more interest as it set down in the nearest open field and many white men poured out of it to meet the truck driven by the blonde lady. Black faces observed in curiosity as the man in the dusty white coat was removed from the back of the truck and carried inside. Many voices wondered why he was not taken to the new hospital if he was hurt or ill.

Eventually, deprived of the excitement of the visitors who were all now inside the hotel, the crowd dispersed. Only Carleton and his companion seemed to be aware that two of the company who arrived with the unconscious man had left with the crowd.

"Nice disguises. I shouldn't have thought she'd dirty up so well," Miss Petrie observed.

"Yes, not quite native, but definitely not the elegant look we normally see," he agreed. "Gillian," he started to address her.

"Not now. We need to make certain they do not go astray," she answered him, her voice no longer light and airy, but deeper timbered, the words touched by an accent and rhythms Carleton had not heard before. When she looked at him, her eyes were wholly black, most disconcerting in her pale face. She smiled. "Do not worry white brother, I do not harm the missy. She be fine by'emby."

Carleton swallowed hard and nodded. Gillian Petrie was one of the few channelers he knew who were the real thing. It did not make it easier to hear foreign voices emanating from her slender throat, nor did it make him condone the wear and tear on her psyche. So far, he had found no way to keep her safe from the vagrant spirits who tried to use her to communicate and act on the world from wherever it was they normally lived or were imprisoned.

"Break the curse," he muttered between clenched teeth and followed his companion.

Mfumfumfumfumfu

"We didn't learn much," Angelique grumbled as she and Illya stopped at the bar Solo had frequented while he was still visible.

"He did not leave of his own will," Illya countered. "That is important."

"Because his vehicle is still here?"

"Because all of his gear is still here. Unless he was following a lead, he would have taken his things with him," Illya insisted. "He was to meet a contact here," he continued quietly. "No one showed. He left to walk to the hotel."

"He never arrived," Angelique continued with a sigh. "Ergo, something happened to him. But what? No one noticed anything."

Illya shrugged his dirty khaki clad shoulders. "Anything." Only that wasn't quite correct. Most things could be countered by his partner. Coda did not have the other agent. Angelique had ascertained that to her satisfaction. He had lied about the scientist, or he hadn't known what he had. Illya regretted that they'd been in the compound such a short time. Coda was up to something.

"We'll deal with Coda once we have Solo," Angelique told him as though she had read his mind. She smiled at him. Even without her normal war paint, she was quite lovely.

"You're certain he does not have him?"

"Yes," she answered. "I don't think he'd have let you go if he did. Or me. There's something going on that he doesn't understand and letting us go makes him think that it will avoid him. At least, I think that's what he was thinking." She swallowed the last of her drink. "There's a jeep waiting for us at the edge of town. One of my contacts thinks that he may have seen a group leave with Mr. Solo. It's worth checking out now that we've ditched our probable tail from Coda."

Illya snorted and paid for the meal before following his companion out of the place. He was aware of the other two that followed them, but he felt no real concern for them doing so.

The jeep waited for them as promised, along with a map directing them up the side of the mountain. Angelique let the Russian take the wheel this time, keeping her gun un-holstered and close to hand. The couple on horseback that appeared behind them did not worry her. The trio of battered ancient trucks that spewed up dust on the trail behind them did. Were they Coda's men or were they something else? After all, both she and Kuryakin had enemies in various places, although she couldn't currently think of anyone in the area who would be after her. Except Coda. What was the man doing that he thought THRUSH would intervene?

The clouds that dogged them all day finally released their promise of rain. Illya swore in three languages as the deluge kept his windshield obscured. He could not see the road, such as it was. The rain drowned out the sound of following engines until he felt swallowed up and imprisoned in the walls of water falling from the sky. A rocky outcrop loomed up in front of him. Jerking the wheel hard to the right he avoided a collision head on, but scraped the side of the jeep hard enough to find himself fighting to keep the vehicle moving in anything resembling a straight line.

"Illya!" his companion yelled over the sound of the deluge. "Stop. Now."

He hated to admit that she was right, but he braked to a stop and turned off the engine. They were surrounded by the sound of water and thunder. Lightning slammed into the ground a hundred feet to one side, whiting out the area, followed by a crack of sound so loud it was difficult to identify as thunder and not some sudden movement of the ground beneath them.

As his eyes adjusted to the gray of the rain again, he felt a gun thrust into his hands. "We have company," she told him quietly, her breath brushing against his ear.

Shadows crowded around the jeep, hands reaching and grasping at him. He made a wild grab to keep Angelique with him as she was pulled away and out of the vehicle into the gray surrounding them. More hands grasped him, pulling him into the rain until the world swirled around him and he thought he would drown in the water pummeling his body. A face swirled into view.

"Napoleon?" he blurted out as he fell backwards, his head connecting with one of the boulders sticking out of the slippery ground. Darkness.


	14. Chapter 14

Angelique, lost in the gray of the falling water, heard Illya's voice cry out. Had she truly heard him say his partner's name, or was it her imagination. She was aware of bodies around her, yet saw no one. Gun at the ready, she moved cautiously, trying not to slip in the wet dirt. One slide could lead to a concussion or worse.

The wall of falling rain parted for a moment. She caught a glimpse of men, several men, all clad in archaic outfits, one carried the Russian slung over a tanned shoulder. Napoleon? She kept her query silent and followed quickly as the men seemed to disappear into the shadow of a huge boulder. The world spun, disorienting her as she tried to keep up with the others. Vertigo took hold of her senses and she fell, grabbing at the earth as she landed. The THRUSH agent squeezed her eyes shut and used her other senses to feel out what had happened.

The rain slacked off to a drizzle, chill but not obscuring. She opened her eyes again to look up into a sky of pale gray, clouds that were almost through dumping their life giving moisture on the land. Looking around she discovered she was no longer on the side of the mountain strewn with boulders but lying in long grass that concealed her from what could only be described as the walls of an ancient city. Rolling over, she lay on her stomach and stared into the grass. There had been patches of growth around the bases of the boulders, but nothing like the tall stalks with waving seed heads that now hid her from sight.

"What the hell?" she said quietly, making certain the safety on her gun was in place before shoving it into her holster as she sat up, the grass still tall enough to hide her. She heard voices, female voices, their tone excited.

"All that pale hair and eyes, he looks so strange, the friend of our King," one noted.

"But he is a King, also. Our King said so and welcomed him like a brother," another woman chattered on.

"It is good he is married already," a third voice, stronger and more mature sounding added. "There will be no sacrifices because of the King's friend," she continued.

Silence followed that pronouncement until the second voice sighed and wished that the King would take a consort so they could all stop worrying.

The mature one made a dismissive noise. "He has taken no one to his bed for many moons. I doubt he will choose a bride from among the women of the city." Her voice dropped so that Angelique could not hear the next words, although she could sense the shiver of fear that went through the other two,.

"Perhaps one night in Gilasham's bed would be worth an eternity as handmaiden to the gods," a new voice cut in.

The women moved on, toward the walls and a gate that the THRUSH agent could now see. The conversation she'd overheard gave her much to think about. So did this city where none should be. That she was still on the flanks of Kilimanjaro was obvious as the snow-capped mountain rose above her. For a while, she lay in the grass turning over her options. The Russian was inside the city that shouldn't be there. There was also the probability that Solo was inside the city. The description of the visiting king fit the blond agent, so there was every possibility that the king the women spoke of would turn out to be Solo.

Why he was masquerading as the king of a possibly antediluvian city made her curious, but that was not her mission. D'Hanson was her mission and had been recovered. Coda might be an adjunct and making certain that the two UNCLE agents did not interfere in her mission was, of course, imperative. She chose not to examine that thought as closely as usual, hardly wishing to admit to herself in the privacy of her mind, that the game would not be nearly as satisfying without the two opposition agents to tease and annoy.

Twinges of hunger and a developing thirst forced her to consider entering the city. She worked her way to the clear space between the grassland and the wall until she felt safe in making the dash from one to the other. The issue with hiding in tall vegetation was that while it obscured one's presence, it gave one little chance to observe the people around one. Evening was coming and although the temperature was not dropping the way it did in the desert regions of Africa, she would need shelter from the creatures that inhabited the night just as the people of the city did.

By twilight, there seemed to be no one heading in or out of the city. With due caution, she moved to the gate she'd seen. It stood propped open. Unlike all the historical and fantasy movies she'd watched, she saw no guards. Were they that trusting around here? She briefly considered the walls. No, but when you're the biggest, most well-armed entity in the area, maybe guards weren't necessary? She snorted delicately at the idea. Guards were always important, whether as sacrifices to allow one to get away or simply as the first line of defense against intruders.

Angelique decided that in for a sheep as a lamb was the order of the day and walked up to the gate. Nothing. There really weren't any guards anywhere near the gate which opened onto a broad avenue paved in stone slabs and sand. The avenue seemed to extend to the other end of the city with several others crossing it at even intervals. A group of people crossed the main thoroughfare.

"Talk about the Sons of Hercules," she muttered as she took in their clothing. From a distance she could tell there was draped fabric, leather and a lot of skin.

As the sky darkened, people came out of the buildings to put torches in the wall sconces carved into the walls. The light was flickering and provided deep pools of shadow between the halos of fire. Moving toward the center of the city, more of a huge walled town now that she looked at it, Angelique kept an eye out for anyone near her build so that she could acquire a more local look.

She noted that the population seemed a mix of races, from deep, nearly ebony skinned to tanned Mediterranean looking types. There were levels of the society she could see, from middle class to what she took to be slaves, although no one seemed overly concerned with nudity, most of the dress consisting of wrapped lengths of fabric on the women to tunics and various items of what looked like leather armor on the men. Sandals and bare feet along with jewelry completed everyone's outfits.

Wonderful. She stepped into what looked like an abandoned building, no torches filled the street-side sconces and the sand and debris were piled against the threshold. Inside, her small flashlight showed signs of disuse, but also a leather chest against the far wall, listing slightly to one side. Angelique checked the chest. The leather was stiff, the fastenings seemed jammed. A sharp knife took care of the problem and inside lay the answer to her blending in to the populace outside.

She wished she had a mirror to check her change. As long as she thought of the disguise as a sari or haute couture, she was fine. At least the sun was down, no one would look too closely at her as she made her leisurely way toward the center of the place and what she hoped was the location of the King's home. Palace? She needed to reach Solo and Kuryakin to find a way out of this place and back to Moshi.

For a moment, she considered leaving the city and heading back for the jeep, only she wasn't entirely certain exactly where she would find the vehicle, or what might be waiting there when she did return to it.

Mfumfumfumfumfumfumfu

"I thought the monsoon wasn't due for another month," Ms. Petrie yelled over the sound of water as she and Carleton took refuge inside the jeep Angelique was considering with longing.

"It's not. Where did they go?" Carleton referenced not the missing Russian and THRUSH agent, but the horde of men they'd briefly seen through the downpour.

She shrugged her soaked shoulders. "I neither know nor care. They're not here and they're not interfering, that's the important part. I'm wet … soaked through," she complained, stripping off her khaki jacket.

"We could have stayed in Moshi," he pointed out, taking the jacket and spreading it on the rear seat where it might have a chance to dry in the next day or so.

"No be watch the breaking if we in Moshi," the other voice answered him.

He shuddered slightly. "Very true," he agreed. "Very true."

NOTE: Edited version. I realized while looking through it that I'd missed some important points … LOL.


	15. Chapter 15

Gonna take a lot to take me away from you

There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do

Fifteen

Noting there was a flow to the foot traffic, Angelique picked a small group and adjusted her pace to theirs. Shortly they came to a building set back from the roadway, baskets and pots of gorgeous blooming plants scattered about the area forming a garden of sorts and guards. Buff men in leather armor with spears and swords stood at the top of the steps leading into the building. This must be the place, she thought and was considering how best to get past the guards and into the building when a short, plump man of indeterminate age came bustling out of the place, followed by half a dozen guards and women.

Much to her surprise, he hurried over to her, bowed low and profusely apologized for their laxness in coming to meet her.

"Quite all right. I had a lovely walk coming into the city. I would like to join my husband." The blond was supposed to be married from what she overheard.

"Of course, Most Gracious One." He straightened, waved a hand at his companions and escorted her into the building. "Enram awaits his Queen!"

The crowd around them all turned to look at her. She could see

Inside, there were more people, including a lot of lovely women and handsome men who were nearly naked and seemed to be slaves. One of the women already with her party summoned a couple of the former and gave them orders to take her to Enram's room. Enram, interesting name. She followed the two women in silence making notes of every turn they made until they were on the top floor of the building.

They stopped at a plain wooden door, one knocked, waited for a response from inside and then pushed the door open for Angelique to enter. She stepped through the door to have it slammed behind her and someone grab her arm and haul her around to face him.

"You."

The faint Russian accent was reassuring. She smiled at him. "Me."

He released her with a faint sigh. "Excellent. I have no understanding of what is going on. This is not THRUSH." He sounded very certain of that as he walked over to the window and looked out.

"No, it's not," she agreed with him, joining him at the window. Below them was another square, not as large as the one before the building and not as inviting. The only item in view was a waist high block of black basalt with a few rusty looking stains on the stones around it. "What's that?"

"I don't know. I do not like the look of it."

"That makes two of us. What happened?" she asked, wanting to know if it was actually Napoleon she'd seen or just a look-alike.

"I fell. There were … men all around us. I couldn't get a good look at them until the rain parted and I thought I was looking at my partner. But it wasn't … isn't … I don't know. I was out for a while and then I woke up here." He frowned at the woman beside him. "Why are you dressed like that?"

"Blending in."

"Of course." He was silent for a moment. "He's not Napoleon …" Yet the Russian seemed unconvinced of his own words.

Angelique looked around the room. Leather armor of a finer caliber than that worn by the obvious guards lay on the bed. "Looks like they're expecting you to join the party, dress the part."

That got a scowl. "Why would I wish to wear a costume out of a bad Italian movie?"

"Because everyone else is. Are you still armed?"

He snorted and unloaded the weapons he still had, most of them sharp. "I lost my gun," he admitted.

"That's all right. I have mine. And a few other things R&amp;D gives us."

The row of weapons and things that could be turned into them ran down one side of the bed, opposite the King's armor. Or, in this case, the vaguely Roman looking skirt of leather strips supported by a leather harness, studded in gold instead of sturdier metal.

Angelique studied the very basic items. "Definitely the sort of thing one would see in some historical based fantasy," she agreed. "The studs are gold, real gold. The workmanship is …" she paused in her comments, running her fingers over the leather. "This isn't Greek or Roman workmanship," she finally offered looking up at him. "This is … older? Somehow?"

He refrained from asking how she would know this. "I am not comfortable with this."

"We could try just walking out of here. Apparently you are a neighboring king and I am your queen, as far as they know."

A fist pounded on the door startling both of them. "I know it's been a long journey," Solo's voice called. "I'd prefer to see you before the feast."

"Come in."

Both occupants of the room raised their eyebrows as the man entered. Clad in a similar outfit to the one on the bed, he looked like a faintly bronzed warrior king, a sword on his hip, greaves protecting his lower legs and similar protection from his elbow to wrist. His smile faltered as he faced the Russian, a faint frown furrowing his brow as he took in the other's khakis. "Strange dress you have. Is this the manner of your court?"

His eyes then strayed to Angelique and an appreciative gleam lit his dark gaze. "This is the woman you spoke of?"

"Yes. My wife." Was that a dangerous note in Illya's voice? "It has been long since I've seen you," he added, stepping forward. They gripped forearms in the legendary manner of warriors from times past.

As they stood there, Angelique saw a change come over the Russian, a smile curing his lips as he gazed up into Solo's face. His body language changed as well, no longer the confused agent, but a man of this place facing his friend. Oh hell, this was going to be interesting in ways the THRUSH agent wasn't ready to accept. They were both under whatever psychological influence this place had.

As both men relaxed and started to discuss their lives since they'd last seen each other, the blonde now on the outside of things, considered her next step in getting the two of them away from the ponderous city. Something had to give. Angelique hoped it would not be her.

HH


End file.
